“Mind if I peek?”
“No, go right ahead. Just fair warning, it’s kind of a mess.”
Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen is finally in an acceptable state. “I need to rinse off and change.”
“’Kay,” Liam says, focused on whatever sheet he has in front of him.
Post-wash and dress, I exit the bathroom, adorned in my signature chiffon billowy shirt dress and leggings. At this point, the outfit is more a uniform than a choice. “I could go for a crêpe if you’re up for some carbs.”
A dizzying wave crashes into me when I catch sight of Liam hunched over the table, mindlessly running his hand through his hair, tie on the table, the top two buttons undone on his collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I pause, off-balance.
A fire lights in the pit of my stomach, and I get the sense it’s going to burn relentlessly until it consumes every part of me. Never satisfied, always hungry.
This, this feeling right here, is why I clung so fiercely to the fragments of a hollow grudge.
Because now that all the bitter resentment is gone, I have to deal with my feelings for Liam. There isn’t a shield to protect me anymore. It’s just me, staring deep into the abyss, our kiss the other night pushing me precariously close to the edge.
Liam picks his head up, and my one-track mind makes a beeline for his lips. I fight the pull to brush a finger over my bottom lip as the tingles radiate down my spine. His mouth moves, but I’m not registering a single sound leaving his lips right now.
“Huh?”
His brow furrows. “I said that sounds good? You okay, Peaches?”
“Oh yeah. Fine.” I hastily clear my throat, pulling my attention away from the danger zone and focusing it elsewhere. Somewhere safe.
Eye contact?
Mirthful lines edge the corners of his lids. My pulse thuds in my ears.
Chest?
Nope. Remember the white partially unbuttoned shirt. Do not attempt.
His wrist must be safe, though, right? Wrists aren’t sexy. Except his wrist is so very close to his forearms, and those are... my eyes fall on his corded forearms, a constant source of misery in my life.
Oh. Hell. What was I thinking kissing this man? I. Am. Doomed.
“Seriously, you feeling okay?”
“Probably just overdid it with the wine on an empty stomach.” I half-smile. “A crêpe should do the trick.”
Liam’s mouth twists into a grim line as he assesses me. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I don’t want to stress you out more than you already are. I think we proved Friday we’ll be fine.”
“Oh.” A pang of disappointment pricks my chest. Of course, this should be good news. The less time I spend with Liam, the better for my nerves. Except, now that it’s had a taste, the masochist in me wants this. Desperately. “I mean, I don’t think building up some stories is a bad idea. If you’re too busy, I get it, though. It’s just not stressing me out, promise.”
Liam snorts. “Right, you’re not acting like you’re stressed at all.”
“Stressed in general, sure, but believe it or not, what we’re doing isn’t the culprit.” It’s what we’re not doing and how much I want you to wrap your hand around my waist and pull me into you that’s bothering me. But eating a crêpe. I can handle that.
He slides his hands into his pockets, and the dimples of doom say hello. “Whatever you want to do, I’m yours, Peaches.”
If only he knew how badly I wanted that to be true.
Abutting the seventeenth-century architecture of the Institute de France, Square Gabriel-Pierné, named after a famous composer of the early 1900s, is happily settled in the Saint-Germain-de-Prés neighborhood on Rue de Seine. Stone book-shaped benches honoring the well-known bookstores and libraries in the area are nestled under canopies of cherry blossoms in this quiet, tucked away park, making it the perfect Parisian hideaway.
“Have you talked to your brother yet?” Liam asks, handing me the gooier of the two Nutella crêpes once I’ve settled into the bench. Overhead, a branch of a cherry tree bows under the weight of its pink blossoms nearing peak bloom. A delicate sweetness catches on the wind, spreading the faint floral aroma around the park.
“Only briefly.”
